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The lights dimmed within the grimy, death-infested, six by eight foot room, as the sound of boney feet on tippy-toes anxiously paced the grey-ridden cell. What exactly was one to do at such a strange, all - compassing time such as tonight when the already frightfully dire situation became even worse? It had begun becoming a quite frankly, revolting sort of a situation. The root of the problem - fluttering wings - were sounded, once again, echoing through the cell.
“Putain de merde!” (Fucking shit) Exclaimed the, quite frankly jittery, nervous voice of one Sirius black, whom would, of course, never, ever admit to his current lack of charm (he’d jerked in fear of the so called harmless birds), or as he would describe himself, “sexier than the entirety of the male population, half the female and maybe a quarter of the rest of humanity. He calls it self awareness, I’m swayed to the opinion that it’s much nearer to Narcissus and Echo’s… situation. However, it’s neither here nor there and… truly hasn’t been for quite some time. Or it hasn’t been since the issue of Sirius’ imprisonment.
“Bloody hell- Merlin’s greased, sagging nuts! These goddamn birds keep coming at me! Guards?? Dementors??” His voice was at once becoming frantic and shrill as the owls tapped his head hitting him in the face with flapping wings as if to scare some sense into the criminal, that yes, their sender was superior and no, dementors don’t protect criminals.
“Va-t’en ou je vous nourrirai les ailes les uns les autres.” (Go away or I’ll feed you your wings.) Screeched the obviously upset man as he petulantly shooed off the ruffled birds, already hooting in protest and dropping letters (and droppings) on Sirius’ head as they fled.
The issue was not the usual “This food tastes worse than intestines served with mayonnaise” or “Merlin, if they’re gonna drain my joy, why not give me a non-lumped mattress? Is it the great, grande depression of am I just the princess and the pea(s)?”. No, no, no. Could it be? How would someone ever (I mean it. Think you lump.) think of this sort of thing as sensible.
The strained growl of a poorly concealed animagus was followed by the thump of angry-manchild foot and concrete walls. Rather marvelous, I’m sure. Then the thick paper of the usual mental health concerning letter that the average citizens sent on usual week-days was dropped dismissively onto his head as the bird flew off rapidly.
Of course, against his own worries he opened it, squinted, because what else was one to do while depressed and in need, while also unlawfully incarcerated?
The front wrote, in swirling, curly, cursive wrote “Jon” with a heart, (because what kind of person who wrote to known murderers and obviously, as one does, sexualized them, didn’t write a heart? Merlin. Get ahold of yourself, this is lettering, 101, and you my sweet, sweet darling are definitely failing. Which is good. That’s good.
Of course, Sirius sighed, disappointed, no “Love, Remus” or “mate, I lied, I didn’t die. It was more of a dumb and dumber two sort of scheme. Sorry.”
Just the weekly (and daily) extremely upsetting letters that Sirius read as if in some sort of self-consequence to be able to say “yes, I failed harry, but it’s ok because after, I read some ten thousand or more (more. Definitely more) letters from people who want to get it going with me. (wink, wink, stub your toe. please.) or have kids with me, or marry me because yes, being a so-called murderer is definitely a very sexy, sort of a thing. Obviously.
But goodness, what was one to do? When you had nothing in life to do? When… when your life is diseased with loss and the entirety of the world, who you thought, at least once loved you now saw you as a despicable, rotting thing in the corner of their kitchen? When your one, true (real, comforting) love was a werewolf who would never find peace, because how does one find peace in the midst of all of this rot? When you are illegal and cannot ever buy a true, home for yourself, eternally.
“Sirius, this is Jon. I know you know who I am because I’ve had so many dreams where you’re there, and i dunno, I’m just so sure you’ve seen them too! When you put that massive…” of course it was another one of the loony ones… Sirius rolled his grey, red rimmed eyes, only feeling a smidge of regret or remorse for Bellatrix, who got twenty times the amount he, himself did, as he threw the letter at her. Of course the regret melted when he remembered that she was, once again angry with him and was currently enforcing the silent treatment, shaking his head, he threw another four, unopened, sweetly smelling, headache inducing letters through her bars. She could deal with it.
Looking down at what she had seemingly accepted as a pest of sorts she simply sniffed that high-class, mildly disturbing sort of a sniff, rolling her eyes as a frown cut across the too pale skin and nearly starved cut of her check bones that Bellatrix wore so proudly.
“Yes, yes, I know, your not speaking to me, all that rubbish, but to be quite honest darling, you’re basically my cell mate so…. Please, please make fun of this Jon guy with me?”
“Sirius,” her voice was scratchy from misuse and overexposure to dementors as she spoke, “you plan to escape, and leave me here. Have you no mind as to the suffering your willingly choosing to induce on me when I’ve been your only company? For 3 years? Where is your empathy??!!” Near the end of Bellatrix’s diatribe she had begun yelling, causing Sirius to tremble against his own consent, taking an involuntary step from the bars separating them.
“I- I never-“
He was cut off before he could even finish the sentence, by what were now calmer, kinder tones, “I thought you had forgiven me? I thought that you accepted that the dark lord gave me no. Choice. When… when did you stop trusting me? I thought we were family…”
“Bellatrix! I- I’m so sorry- I love you, you know that, you’re like my sister! I- I don’t want you to think I don’t, because… because I do! And it’s never been any other way, even when I thought you were doing Voldem- his bidding of your own volition I loved you. I always will, ok? I’m- I’m so sorry. It was such an unkind, rude, and honestly rubbish idea for me to have. I should know by know that you’re the only thing helping me function.” Looking apologetically down at Bella, he squeezed her hand (bony, thin, soft) in apology. “You’ll come with me. I was so, so wrong.. I’m sorry..”
The long haired woman paused, clearly softening at the vehement words, and apology’s. Then, “how?”
“It’s simple. We’ll turn you into an animigus.” And then “Throw me that letter from Jon will you?”
A year later, a wand, and too many potions to count (sent via Jon. Of course.) Bellatrix was an animigus, in fact, (thankfully) she was a bat, which could fit in through the grates that littered the prison. Of course they’d all laughed, because, of course Bellatrix was a bloody bat, and then after much vehemence and animus, Sirius was being shrunken into the size of a doll and climbing, slowly, and difficulty up Bellatrix’s wing and onto her back. However, finally, Sirius succeeded, and off the bat flew, successfully through the gate, wand in mouth, off to find the current residence of one Remus Lupin.